


only the sun (has come this close)

by daisyhaechan



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha Huang Ren Jun, Alpha Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Omega Mark Lee (NCT), Omega/Omega, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyhaechan/pseuds/daisyhaechan
Summary: “There are rumors about you.”“Do you believe them?”“Do you want me to?”---Mark travels to Yulan to marry Prince Yukhei, an alpha he's never met. Yukhei is tall. Jeno is suspicious. Donghyuck is... a problem.Mark had anticipated a lot of things, but not a revolution.(title from Shauna Barbosa's poem 'GPS')
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 50
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**“** **_Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between”_ ** **-Maya Angelou,** **_I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings_ **

They had told him about the culture and the language and the appropriate way to dress, to eat, to speak. They had told him about which holidays their countries shared, which ones they didn’t. He knew the founding date of the capital city and the name of their tallest mountain. He knew that their highest exports were coal and salt, and that the official language was the same as his mother country’s, but the majority of the common folk spoke a completely different dialect. So yes, theoretically, he knew about Yulan’s weather, the hundreds of feet of snow they got each year, how it ran into their reservoirs in the spring and propelled the small but thriving livestock industry.

But they had neglected to tell Mark about the cold.

It was fucking freezing— excuse his language— and the bumpiness of the road didn't help. The carriage bounced with every tiny rock it hit, and Mark’s butt was growing numb. It was very inconsiderate of the Yulanese to build their palace on the top of a mountain. It could have been somewhere easier to get to. Maybe on the beach, like where Mark used to live.

He didn't dare to push aside the curtain to take a peek outside, too afraid to let the wind in, but he would bet it was snowing already. It was only early November.

He was debating asking the driver if there were any extra blankets in the compartment he was sitting on, but before he could, the carriage stopped abruptly. Mark lurched forward, reaching out to the plank of wood blocking his compartment from the driver’s to steady himself. A moment later, his door was opening. He was hit by a blast of cold air that made him close his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was facing a boy wearing a plain woolen cloak, the collar of which covered half his face, though the red tips of his ears poked out.

Looking past the young servant, there were four people standing in a line, all wearing finery lined with fur. Mark automatically reached for a hand to help him out of the carriage, and was met with the gloved fingers of the boy who’d opened it. He stepped out carefully, limbs stiff from the long hours of travel in a wooden box with little to be had for cushion, and fell into a deep bow.

He was met with two beats of silence before the King spoke.

“Please, Prince Mark, rise,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, reminiscent of Mark’s uncle’s own voice. He supposed most kings sounded similar.

Mark rose as commanded, standing with the posture of someone to whom it had been taught. (It had.) His head, however, remained slightly lowered, eyes at the King’s feet, appropriately deferential to the highest ranking alpha in the vicinity. “King Hyunho, Queen Eunhwa. You have a beautiful country.”

“Your uncle did say you were polite,” the Queen said.

Mark’s smile didn't waver, didn't shrink or grow. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The Queen stepped forward and reached out a hand, clad in silk gloves. Mark took it obligingly and finally looked up. Queen Eunhwa’s eyes were round, outlined in wrinkles. She was pretty in the way that antique mirrors are. “I’m sure you’re hungry,” she said. “Please come inside, supper will be served shortly.”

On cue, Mark’s stomach rumbled. Queen Eunhwa kindly said nothing, but gestured him forward to walk with her. They passed the rest of them— those three men, standing in a rehearsed straight line.

Which one was he about to marry? They likely would have put the crown prince in the next to the king, meaning Mark’s fiancé was the tall one— around his father’s height— wearing a dark brown fur cloak and leather boots. He hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of his face, and now he was walking ahead of them, which made it impossible to take a discrete peek.

Mark’s shoes, too thin for the weather, crunched in the snow, and he shivered at the reminder of the cold. The Queen frowned. “Is that coat your only layer?” she asked. “We’ll have to get you something warmer.”

“We don’t get a lot of snow in Kambria, your Majesty,” Mark answered.  _ Or, truly, any snow at all. _

“You’ll need proper boots, too, I suppose. I’ll have my women inform the tailor. It’s the least we can do, inviting you here for the first time just at the start of winter. A week earlier and the sky would have been clear as day.”

_ I’ll just have to wait until next year, _ Mark thought gloomily, and was unbalanced at the idea of spending so much time at this foreign palace that he would see the entire winter through, see the summer in these mountains in place of the sprawling fields and undulating waves back home. He’d only been away two weeks, which was the time it took to travel from one end of the continent to the other, and he was already missing Kambria.

The doors to the palace were three times as tall as Mark, thick chunks of dark wood intricately carved with images of dragons and twisting branches and looming mountainous sky lines. The carvings were inlaid with shining silver. Mark watched as the doors began to move, someone in the tower above likely turning a wheel, making heavy chains pull the doors open. It was quite a bit of fanfare. As much as he appreciated the beauty of the doors, Mark wondered if they had a smaller entrance, somewhere you didn't have to go through a ceremony before you could enter your home.

The ceiling of the hall inside was just as tall as the doors, cherry wood illuminated by warm yellow lanterns hung at regular intervals. The walls were paneled with gold, and the lantern light flicked across the impeccably shined surfaces in an uncoordinated dance. It was a strange contrast against the dark wood.

A quarter of the way down the hall, Queen Eunhwa took a turn to the left, and they came to a dining area. The table was long enough to hold a feast, but only the far end had been set with dishes and silverware. There were six settings.

The royal family, plus Mark.

His stomach flipped. He stopped short before the table, unsure of where to sit, but before he could embarrass himself by having a crisis five minutes after his introduction, the tall son pulled out a chair for him before walking around to the other side of the table. Mark dipped his head in thanks.

King Hyunho ended up sitting at the head of the table, with Queen Eunhwa and Mark on one side, the two sons on the other. He was sitting directly across from Huang Yukhei, Crown Prince of Yulan, his future husband, and it was then that Mark finally looked at his face.  _ He looks a bit like a bear, _ Mark thought neutrally. The prince wasn’t unattractive, but Mark didn't feel anything looking at him, except for a hint of anxiety in his gut, but that had been there for the past couple months. It wasn’t new.

Besides, it didn't matter if Mark felt something looking at the Crown Prince. He was going to marry him anyway. It wasn’t like he could decide otherwise at this point in the arrangement. The moment marriage had been brought up in the throne room was the moment Mark could no longer decide what he wanted. And anyway, the Crown Prince’s face was symmetrical. His shoulders were broad. He looked like an alpha that little girls pictured when they thought about their future.

Yukhei looked up and they made eye contact for a split second before Mark’s gaze darted away.

“Have you eaten yukgaejang before, Mark?” he heard Queen Eunhwa ask.

“A few times.”

“Is it to your liking?”

Mark paused. “I like aspects of all dishes,” he finally said.

When the Queen smiled, dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Is it the meat or broth that you dislike?”

“I’m a bit sensitive to spice,” Mark admitted.

“I’ll pass it along to the chef,” she said. Mark smiled before he could stop himself, eyebrows creeping together like they always did when he was amused. It made his forehead crease, Mark remembered, and stopped smiling.

He was going to respond to the Queen again, but reminded himself that he was trying to make a good impression on behalf of his country. No one liked a chatty omega. He waited for the meal to be brought out in silence, while the two princes on the other side of the table talked quietly back and forth, heads pressed close together. The younger one— Jeno, Mark recalled from his lessons— looked up at Mark for a moment and then blushed and looked back down like he’d been caught.

They were talking about him, Mark knew. He didn't care much. All he wanted right then was a warm bed. He didn't even care about getting clean first, he just wanted his head on a pillow and the illusion of hot weather. It wasn’t a realistic vision. He likely had hours to go before he could retire: dinner, then more questions that they already knew the answers to over wine, being introduced to his chambers.

Queen Eunhwa’s scent was faint under her layers of clothing, even after she’d removed her fur cloak, but Mark could smell the slight earthiness of it. It was a typical scent for a beta, which Mark knew her to be from his lengthy education. Jeno was a beta, as well. The King and Crown Prince were alphas. Yulan’s royal family didn't commonly have omegas in their lineage.

Then again, neither did Kambria’s. Mark had been the first since his great-grandmother, other than his aunt, who had married into the family. It had been quite a surprise when he presented at the age of seventeen, five years ago now— his parents were excited to have an omega son, but at the same time, Mark had been set to inherit the throne. The next best thing was using him to strengthen their alliances in the north. Hence Mark sitting at a too-large table in the coldest country he’d ever been to, avoiding his fiancé’s eyes.

The food came out finally, brought by three servants who worked quickly to set the large silver pot of soup and two pitchers of cherry wine on the table in front of them. Mark’s mouth started to water, but he reminded himself to wait to be served, even as everyone else helped themselves, using the ladle to spoon stew into their bowls. He just looked at the pot of red broth and meat, enticing despite Mark’s distaste for spicy food, and his ears began to burn. Should he just serve himself? He was hungry enough to excuse his own bad behavior. Maybe he should just ignore custom for that night. Nobody—

Queen Eunhwa cleared her throat quietly, glancing at her son. Yukhei’s eyes widened, and he jumped a little in his seat as he leaned forward to serve Mark two ladlefuls of yukgaejang. Mark didn't bother to say thank you in his haste to bring the bowl to his face and spoon the soup into his mouth. It burned his tongue on the way down, and he barely managed to keep in his wince.

“I’m sorry, Mark, my son seems to have forgotten his manners after his years in the military,” the Queen remarked. Yukhei’s face was red. Mark didn't know what to say, so he stayed quiet and had another spoonful of soup, remembering to blow on it to cool it down this time.

“He was always like this,” Jeno said.

Mark wanted to laugh. He didn't. There was soup in his mouth.

The rest of the meal passed in the same way. The royal family made pleasant conversation and Mark quietly sipped his soup. He could feel Yukhei’s eyes on him and he didn't like how it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Every so often, the Queen would ask Mark a question, and he would give the shortest reply possible.

To his surprise, there was no after-dinner, faux-casual, fireside drinking affair, and Mark was lead straight to his chambers by one of the servants, an omega who was significantly taller than Mark. He took Mark up a steep spiraling staircase at the end of the hallway and unlocked a door with a key attached to his sash, then bowed and closed the door behind him. Mark was alone. For the first time in weeks, Mark was alone.

It was dark, and Mark could only see the outline of the furniture in the room, but he noticed that his luggage had been brought up by someone, stacked in a neat pile at the foot of the bed.

His shoes were the first thing to come off— they’d been irritating a blister on his big toe for a while now— and he lined them up next to the bed. Then his coat, which had proven to be too thin for the Yulanese climate; he threw it over the chair in the corner. The rest of his clothes he untied quickly and left in a heap on the ground in the middle of the room. Mark was left in just his underwear. He was a prince. He should have made himself dig through his luggage for pajamas. Instead, he wrapped the fur that was draped across the floor around his shoulders for warmth and climbed into bed.

The only thing he registered before he passed out was the softness of the sheets brushing against his cheek.

\--

Mark woke to a room swimming in cold light. For a moment, he was in Kambria. If he looked out the window, he would be looking right at the sea, sparkling blue waves reflecting the sun back at him— golden and warm, even in the cooler months. Then he registered the frigid air on his face and blinked his eyes open.

Dust mites hung in the air, illuminated by the light streaming from the open curtains. Out the window, thick snowflakes were falling slowly. Mist hung in the distance, obscuring the tops of the mountains.

It took a moment to register the reason he’d woken. Someone was knocking on the door. Mark stood, throwing on his shirt and pants from last night just to have something to cover himself.

The omega servant from last night was standing on the other side of the door. As soon as Mark opened it, he took a small step inside, staring out the window at the snow with a wide-eyed expression. He bowed, his floppy hair coming untucked from behind his ears as he did so. “Good morning, your Highness,” he said softly.

“What was your name?” Mark asked.

The boy rose from his bow. “Kim Jungwoo.”

“Good morning, Jungwoo.”

“Good morning, your Highness,” Jungwoo repeated. “I’ve been sent to invite you to breakfast in the grand hall.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, inclining his head slightly to signify that Jungwoo could leave. He bowed once more, and then exited the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Mark sighed, rolling his shoulders. His body was buried under a formidable mound of blankets, and he didn't want to submit himself to the cold atmosphere just yet, much preferring to stay with his nose buried in thick cotton. But he’d been instructed—  _ invited—  _ to come to breakfast with the royal family, and he didn't want to make a bad impression on his first morning in the Yulanese palace.

Gingerly, Mark stretched his leg out from under the blankets and placed it on the floor. It was cold to the touch. He hissed as he stood, tiptoeing over to his luggage to find some warm socks. Thick pants. Maybe a sweater. The only problem was his warmest clothes were the ones from last night, which were now wrinkled from being piled carelessly on the floor. It was his own fault. He would have to wear something lighter and just suffer.

The best he could manage were a pair of thin black trousers and a long-sleeved shirt that looked much warmer than it was.

The grand hall looked much different in the daylight— less intimidating, for one. The darkness in the corners of the room that had made it look so expansive the night before was gone, banished by the light reflecting from the snow streaming into the palace. The hall was still huge, but not infinite. And when the walls were lit up like this, it was plain to see the details embellishing the room. Gold and silver twisting together in intricate branches on the ceiling, the crystal chandelier looming above the table in the center of the room, the delicate marble statues standing watch from all sides beside the living palace guards in their light blue uniforms.

The royal family was seated at the table in the same formation as the night before, minus the king. The end seat was empty.

Besides the few guards stationed against the wall, only two servants remained in the room, standing by with pitchers of water and juice. Three silver platters were sat on the table runner, with vinegar rice noodles, tarts, and a neatly presented arrangement of fruit cut into thin geometric slices. Mark made his way to his seat next to Queen Eunhwa. She smiled at him, taking a delicate bite of pear dusted in brown sugar.

“Good morning, Mark.”

“Good morning, your Majesty,” Mark replied, managing to keep his voice from cracking.

“Did you sleep well? If your pillows were too thin or you didn't have enough blankets, feel free to tell any staff member and they’ll direct the complaint to the right person. Right, Taeyong?”

The servant to Mark’s left looked confused for a moment before nodding. He was a boy, older than Mark, with neatly brushed hair and unfocused eyes. Mark supposed if you had to listen to royal pleasantries for half of your day, you would learn to zone out.

The queen was saying something to him. “I was just proposing that Yukhei should escort you into town tomorrow to buy a cloak, and perhaps some gloves, a hat, maybe— I’m getting ahead of myself, but you do need warmer clothing, dear. We could have the tailor make something, if you’d prefer, he is very talented and we keep him around for a reason, but the city really is quite lovely this time of year. You should see it, if the weather permits. You could make a day of it, get lunch somewhere nice.”

Mark swallowed, nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

“I would suggest you go today, but the storm hasn’t yet let up.” The queen glanced sadly out the windows of the dining hall. “Yukhei can get his work done today, and tomorrow you won’t have any other obligations.”

The prospect was terrifying. Mark nodded again.

Jeno got up from the table first, after eating enough for two men. He crossed the table to kiss his mother’s hand; though she was distracted by a story she was telling, she stopped to smile at him. Then he left. One of the guards closed the door behind him carefully, so it wouldn’t make too loud a sound.

“He’s going to tutoring,” Yukhei said before Mark could ask. It was the first time he’d spoken to him.

“Oh,” Mark said, in lieu of a more thought-out response.

“Since he’s a man now, he no longer has a teacher but more of a gentleman friend who lectures him about classic poetry and teaches him piano. And whatnot.”

“Ah,” Mark said. Because his brain was empty.

“His name is Donghyuck. He’s really been in the palace for a while now.”

“Good for him.”

There was another long silence. After a moment, Mark dabbed at his mouth ( _ Dab, don’t wipe,  _ his mother’s voice echoed in his head) and pushed back his chair. It squeaked a little on the marble floor. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, without plans to elaborate, and then he left the room.

The guard closed the door behind him.

There was a servant on his way in with an empty platter, supposedly to clear plates. Mark stopped him.

“Is there a library in this palace?”

The servant stood still for a moment. “Um, if you just go down that corridor and to the left.”

“Thank you!” Mark said, already starting down the corridor. Following the servant’s directions, he found an unassuming door, much smaller and lighter colored than most of the others in the palace. It opened, though, to an expansive room with ambitiously vaulting ceilings and latticed cast iron windows lined along the curved wall, facing partially the gardens and about half of the palace training grounds. Troops were doing exercises in the fields. The color of their distinct blue uniforms was slowly being obscured by the falling snow.

The bookshelves were tall and long, with not much room between them so as to fit as many books as possible in as little space. As with any self-respecting library, rolling ladders were set up on each row so browsers could reach the higher shelves.

On both sides of the room were areas with unorganized sofas and desks. People of all ages, though only a few of them presently, were seated there.

There was a young man tugging a squeaky cart down the rows, putting the books back in alphabetical order. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform, but he clearly worked here. Did he not work for the palace? Or was he just ignoring the uniform obligation? Mark drifted closer to him, but before he could say anything, the man turned around. He was a bit shorter than Mark, but only slightly. His hair was unevenly parted. He smelled faintly of orange zest, definitely omega but less sweet than most.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. And then, before Mark could respond: “You have chocolate on your face.”

Mark frowned. “I know,” he lied, wiping the chocolate off his face.

“It wasn’t an insult.”

“Well,” Mark clipped.

“Nevermind,” the librarian said. “What are you looking for?”

“A book.”

He still looked entertained. “A book. Any more special qualifications?”

Mark resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I need something to do in my pastime and thought that the library would be the right place to check, but apparently I was mistaken.” He spun around to leave, but a hand reached out and grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. Mark was stunned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him.

“I’m sorry, your Highness, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.” Mark’s breath deflated from his chest. He hadn’t thought before that the librarian had realized he was the foreign prince, but now he was sure he had. Maybe it was obvious. “I can still help you find a book,” the other continued, “If you’d like.”

Mark cleared his throat, turning back around to face the librarian. He was still smiling a bit, and Mark briefly wondered if his face ever took a break. If his eyes got stuck like that. If his cheeks ached. 

“I would,” Mark said.

“Excellent. I’m Lee Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck… “Prince Jeno’s tutor? Isn’t he supposed to be here?”

“He’s not usually inclined to be on time. And anyway, the appropriate way to respond to someone offering you their name is to offer them yours.”

If Jeno wasn’t with Donghyuck, why had he left breakfast so quickly? “My name is Mark,” he told Donghyuck.   
  
“Prince Mark of Kambria. How are you and my country getting along?”

It was a funny way to phrase it. “Well enough, I suppose.”

“And why do you need a book to read? The Prince not keeping you busy?”

Mark blushed, though he didn't know why. “I only packed one, and I read it a few times over on the way here.”

“Oh, dear.” Donghyuck shook his head. He began walking, leaving behind his cart stacked with books to be reshelved, and Mark followed. “What genre do you prefer?”

“I don’t really have a preference,” Mark said.

“Everyone has a preference. If you don’t, you’re either lying or boring. I hope for the Prince’s sake that you’re not boring, so I’ll choose to believe you’re lying. I don’t think you enjoy poetry, though you’ve probably studied it, being a prince and all, and you’re far too prone to embarrassment to read romance novels. I’ll take a chance on adventure. Have you read anything by Komé?”

Mark blinked. “No, I don’t believe so.”   
  
Donghyuck beamed. “ _ Well _ then,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself. “This way.”

It turned out that Mark  _ had  _ read something by Komé, but he didn't want to disappoint Donghyuck. He seemed so excited to introduce his novels to Mark. And to be fair, he’d only read one.

By the time Mark left the library, eleven books were stacked in his arms, courtesy of Donghyuck, who would read a title, smile to himself, and then chuck it on top of the rest. Mark eventually had to beg to stop, and the librarian let him go.

Mark managed to turn the door handle and walked out just as Prince Jeno was walking in. Both princes froze. Then they were stuck in an impromptu race to see who could bow deeper and quicker. Jeno won, but it was only because Mark was trying not to spill his treasure hoard of books.

“Good morning,” Mark said, though he wanted to ask where the prince had been all this time he was supposed to be with Donghyuck.

“Afternoon now, I suppose,” Jeno said, eyes swiveling to the windows to look at the sun and gauge its height, as if the library didn't have a huge bronze mechanical clock on the wall. (13:22, it told them.)

“I suppose,” Mark agreed. “I should, uh—”   
  
“Of course,” Jeno interrupted, stepping aside so Mark could slip through the door. Mark bowed once more before turning and speed-walking down the hallway.

He didn't have a plan to entertain himself, but maybe it would be a good idea to get to know the palace. He didn't know where virtually anything was, save for the dining hall, his room, and now the library. If he was going to be living here, he should probably figure out exactly where he was living. From what he’d seen of the outside, the palace was huge. What else was hiding in there?

As it turned out, a lot. By continuing down a single hallway, Mark found the kitchens (which were so big he couldn’t see the other end of the room), a music hall that currently held a rehearsing orchestra, and a dance hall that was lovely but empty. The next door he opened was not so empty.

The throne room, Mark’s mind supplied him, using the clue that, primarily, there was a platform in it with thrones, though two of them sat empty. The platform was all the way at the end of the room, a deep purple carpet leading there from the main entrance. Mark had not taken the main entrance; he was entering from a small side door. The small cluster of servants standing near the door spared him a short glance when he entered, but didn't say anything. Around them, on either side of the carpet, were royals and palace officials and petitioners.

The petitioner currently standing in front of the king was a middle aged man with a sagging face that was trying its best to stay up. His coat buttons were polished hastily, as if he’d been in a hurry.

“Your Majesty, we only ask that you allow us to import small amounts of grain. Our industry— we’re trying our best, but we need a boost from the ground up. In the last few years, local bakeries have been forced to adjust their prices according to supply, and I’m getting complaints.”

The king was leaning with one elbow against the arm of his throne, a ceremonial scepter in his hand that likely never left the room. He was gently rubbing his thumb against the gold knob at the end of it. A mindless habit.

“Thank you for your appeal. The counsel will review it.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” the petitioner said.

He was escorted through the main doors, which apparently led directly outside, and they shut behind him, sending a gust of cold wind through into the hall. Though it was short, it got its point across. Mark shivered. The next person to be brought through was a young man, a palace guard at each of his shoulders. As Mark looked closer, he saw that the man’s hands were shackled behind his back. One of his eyes was swollen and slightly pink. His lips were chapped. A smudge of dirt stuck stubbornly to the collar of his shirt.

Mark frowned as the guards each let go of the man’s arms, and he dropped to the ground. The guard at his left stepped forward. “Nakamoto Yuta, sir. Alpha. Twenty four years old. Apprehended for petty theft.”

The prisoner’s eyes remained trained on the carpet beneath his knees.

The king grunted. “The tenth. December.”

“December tenth?” Mark muttered. “December tenth what?”   


The servant to his right helpfully whispered, “His execution date.”

Mark’s heartbeat was hollow in his ears. He watched as Yuta was prodded to his feet once again, and then he and the two guards disappeared around the corner. Mark slipped out of the room silently, gently closing the door behind him. Once the knob clicked shut, he let out a breath and leaned against the wall. An oil lamp flickered above his head. The wood was cool against his back. 

He never did like the messy parts of royalty. Maybe it was a good thing he’d presented as an omega and been gifted to an allying kingdom. But execution for petty theft? Did the king dole out death sentences for fun? He hadn’t even sounded fazed when announcing Yuta’s fate. Maybe it was a daily occurrence.

There were more rooms to explore, more branches of the castle, but Mark was finished. He began the long walk back to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! It's more of a filler chapter, but it does set up sort of the main conflict, I guess. We'll see if I can get the next chapter out faster, but no promises! Thanks for sticking it out with me.

_ “...well, a tower for many reasons, but chiefly because she liked spiral staircases”  _ -Keri Hulme,  _ The Bone People _

Mark’s carriage had driven through the city on the way to the palace, but he’d barely been able to sneak a peek through the curtains over the windows. It was completely different seeing it now.

He and Yukhei had left the palace in a coach, with two guards and one servant, but the five of them had left the coach and horses behind at the entrance to the city. Now they traveled on foot through the streets. By Yulan’s standards, it was a warm winter’s day, and everyone was bustling about, getting shopping done or just walking across town. There was a fountain in the middle of the town square, not currently functioning, but Mark could see the ghosts of the running water in the tiny icicles hanging off the edges of its stone layers. Children ran around the fountain, playing some game which involved a colorful flag and lots of screaming, laughing, and (occasionally) crying from skinned knees or wounded pride.

The tailor who the royal family liked had a shop just off the main street. The doors were painted an ambitious blue, and cracked slightly open to let in a fresh breeze. Yukhei made a show of opening the door for Mark. The guards remained outside, one posted on either side of the door.

The shop’s interior was classy, nicely decorated, but stuffy. Mark understood the need for the doors to be kept cracked.

“What was mother’s list?” Yukhei was mumbling. “Gloves…”

“Cloak, gloves, hat, trousers, sweaters, socks,” the servant with them put in helpfully.

“Thank you, Doyoung,” the prince replied.

“I really just need the cloak and the trousers,” Mark said.

Yukhei waved a hand. “My mother will be furious if we return with anything less than a full wardrobe, believe me.”

The front desk of the store was empty, a lonely looking chair scooted under the counter. The clerk was at the other end of the room, taking a woman’s measurements while her husband stood to the side, glancing every once in a while at the time.

Yukhei didn't bother to call out to the clerk, but got right to browsing the shelves of clothing. Mark trailed behind him with a bit more trepidation, unsure of exactly what he was searching for. Yukhei suddenly spun around, a few wooden hangers dangling from his fingers, and looked him up and down a few times. Mark shifted his weight from one foot to the other and waited.

“Do you like grey?”

“Depends on the day,” Mark said, and Yukhei laughed much louder than he’d expected him to. He smiled back, a bit startled.

There was a pause that went just a moment too long before Yukhei cleared his throat and said, “You’re funny.”

Just then, the clerk came shuffling around the corner to see them standing there, and bowed deeply. He was surprisingly young, short yet lean, and smartly dressed. There was an assistant by his side, a young girl whose cheeks were flushed and hair parted into two braids. She didn't meet Mark’s gaze.   
  
“Hello, Ten,” Yukhei said pleasantly, not looking at all surprised.

“Your Highness.” Ten rose from his bow, cheeks flushed and hair just slightly out of place. “I noticed the guards outside and came as quickly as I could; I’m sorry I didn't greet you sooner. What brings you here today?”

“My mother the queen has dispatched me on a very urgent mission to purchase Prince Mark warmer clothing.”

Ten’s eyebrows rose, and he bowed again. “Your Highness. I didn't realize.”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Mark said. “You have a lovely shop.”

“Thank you, your Highness. What can I do for you?”

“He needs—” Yukhei started, then stopped, puzzled. “Doyoung?”

“Cloak, gloves, hat, trousers, sweaters, socks,” Doyoung recited once again.

“Right away. We can do the sweaters and trousers first. Follow me, please.” Mark obeyed, letting Ten lead them to a new corner of the store. The girl scurried behind them.

Ten retrieved a tape measure from a pouch hanging from his belt and motioned for Mark to hold out his arms before beginning to measure every part of his body. The tape measure was cold as it slithered along the thin skin of his neck. Mark did his best not to shiver. As Ten worked, he yelled out words to the girl in a language Mark didn't know; she jotted notes down in a small notebook, but Mark couldn’t read the letters. It must have been Fukoi, the language that most of the common people spoke. The rich and important in Yulan spoke the same language as Mark, Tomanese, but most of the working class didn't know a word.

“Okay, I have your size,” Ten said finally. “Now…” He began to pick things off the shelves, turning around to appraise Mark every once in a while, making him squirm. “You’ll want something thick, for the winter weather, I expect. Kambria is much warmer than here, no?”

“Yes. We don’t get snow.”

Ten blinked. “None at all?”   
  
Mark shook his head.

The girl asked a question in Fukoi, and Ten replied quickly before going back to his conversation with Mark.

“Well, then. You’ll be needing these.” He thrust three sweaters into Doyoung’s outstretched hands. “And…” Ten’s nimble fingers sorted their way through the pants hanging in a row to his left, coming out with three pairs. “These are very soft material, feel?”

Mark stroked the palm of his hand along the cloth and nodded.

“Wonderful. You need socks, as well, yes? These are my newest made, and they’re very comfortable.” He gave Doyoung three pairs of socks along with the pants.

(Three was today’s lucky number, clearly.)

“What else?”   
  
Doyoung spoke up from behind his small mountain of clothing: “Cloak, gloves, hat.”

“Right,” Ten said, snapping his fingers. “We don’t sell those items here in my store, but I can point you to a place not far from here. The owner has wonderful taste. My own coat was made by him, in fact. First, though, you should try these on, your Highness.”

He ushered Mark behind a curtain in a corner of the room. Doyoung set all his items down on a bench in neat little piles, and then retreated.

Mark took a deep breath. Though everyone was only a few meters away, he was alone. The curtain was long and purple, with pink flowers dotting the print. It wasn’t completely opaque— he could see just the vague, dark outlines of everyone’s heads on the other side— but it was enough to give the illusion of a separate room.

He hadn’t emerged from his bedroom at all last night, feigning sick to avoid having to face the king after he’d watched him sentence that man to death for  _ petty theft. _ It was only his second dinner at the palace, and he was already messing up what he’d been told: be friendly, don’t talk about politics, stand up straight. He tried to make himself go, but he couldn’t. Jungwoo ended up bringing a bowl of bok choy and squash soup to his room and leaving it on his dresser while Mark pretended to sleep through it. Instead of socializing, he spent the rest of the night reading the novels Donghyuck had supplied him with.

But there was no avoiding the queen’s will, and so here they were, shopping.

Deciding to get this over with, Mark tugged his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor, then thought better of it and folded it before putting it down again. He undid the three buttons on his pants one at a time and stepped out of them before setting them aside. Then he picked up the first shirt.

It really was soft, he’d give Ten that. And it looked good on his reflection in the rectangular, gold-framed mirror leaning against the wall. The other two looked just as good— same with the pants. He only had to try on one of the socks, since they weren’t that complicated.

He put his own clothing back on and emerged from behind the curtain.

Yukhei was sitting on a leather bench, staring down at his own hands as he drummed his fingers on the fabric. Doyoung stood behind him.

“Oh, good!” Ten said, popping up from behind a rack of sweaters. “Did they fit? Do you like the color?”

“I— yes. Thank you.”

Yukhei looked up. “We’ll take them, thanks.” He dropped a few gold coins into Ten’s hand, and his eyes widened.

“Oh, they’re not worth—”

“For your trouble. Doyoung!”

Doyoung snapped out of his role as a wooden doll and moved to take the purchases from Mark, who handed them over easily, and placed them carefully into the spacious satchel at his side. 

They headed toward the door. Yukhei and Doyoung left first, and Mark was just leaving when the young girl tugged on his sleeve. He looked down; she was in her teenage years at least, but still considerably shorter than him, shorter even than Ten (who wasn’t of very impressive stature himself).

“Please—” she started, but then stopped talking, blushing.

“Oh, Ayimi, please, don’t bother our guest.” Ten seemed embarrassed.

The girl said something to him, then turned back to Mark. “You have money?” she asked haltingly.

Mark blinked. “Um. Do you— do you need something?”

She bit her bottom lip, which was already chapped and peeling. “My brother sick, need, please.”

Ten began to apologize, but Mark was already rummaging through his coin purse. It was small, but the value of the contents was large. “How much?”

She didn't seem to understand, so Mark just gave her a gold coin, hoping it would be enough. Her eyes widened, and she bowed. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Mark nodded, a little stunned. “Uh, thank you. Ten. Thanks for the clothes.”

“I’m sorry,” Ten repeated.

“I said thank you,” Mark told him, bemused, and then left.

Yukhei and Doyoung (and the two palace guards) were waiting for him outside. Doyoung gave him a look that Mark didn't know how to interpret, but Yukhei hadn’t seemed to notice anything. He walked faster than the two of them, and Mark fell into step next to the servant. “You’ll gain a reputation,” Doyoung murmured.

“For what?” Mark asked, pretending to be oblivious.

“A bleeding heart. A walking charity.”

“It was one girl.”

“The rest will come.”

Mark shrugged.  _ So what if they do?  _ He had plenty of coins to give, anyway.

The place that Ten had pointed them towards was a close walk. From there, they got his cloak, gloves, and hat. Mark left the city considerably warmer than when he’d arrived.

They returned to the palace at 15:00. Mark knew because he excused himself to the library at the earliest possibility, which turned out to be easy. The prince had business to take care of, he said. Mark didn't bother asking what business. He had books to return.

He had planned to talk to the librarian, Donghyuck, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he left the two books he’d finished the night before at the desk with a young woman and headed outside. He’d been meaning to get around to finishing his self-guided tour of the castle, no matter how the last one had turned out. There wasn’t much to do in a palace, even if it seemed like there should be so many options; Mark knew this from experience in Kambria, and no palace was too different from the last.

He found the doors to the gardens easily. They were full of trees, a floor of snow, squirrels hoarding acorns. Nothing extraordinary. It was probably nicer in the warmer season.

The stables were easy to find from the gardens, but the lock to the iron gate was frozen shut, so Mark had to go back inside and then get into the stables from the other entrance. The door was a little harder to find (he encountered a few closets), but he finally got the right one and opened it.

The floor was covered in hay, and a layer of dust hung in the air. It was warmer than the outside, even though there weren’t exactly walls. Horses just gave off heat. These horses, the ones who were in their stalls and he could see from behind the wooden gates, were wearing their furry winter coats. The horses in Kambria had no need for the extra warmth, so they remained smooth all through the year. The thicker hair was cute.

Strangely, there were no stable boys around the place. It was almost eerily empty, in a way that any given room in a busy palace rarely was. Mark made his way down the stalls, looking at the individual horses. There was a different area for all the common military and mail service horses, a large barn, but these horses belonged to the royal family and other important officials. They were the best breeds, the best groomed. A little spoiled, maybe. He was reaching across a gate to pat a horse on the flank when he heard a sneeze.

He turned around, startled, but no one was there. “Hello?”

There was a tiny scuffle.

“Is anyone there?” Mark called out. He walked closer to where he thought the noise had come from, until he got to the last stall. Before he could peek inside, someone stood up, making Mark almost jump out of his skin. He clutched his heart, frightened. It beat as if it were trying to escape his rib cage.

“Warn a guy,” he wheezed.

The person laughed awkwardly. Mark looked up, about to say something else, but then he recognized them. “Donghyuck?” he asked.

“That’s me, yep. Donghyuck. The librarian,” Donghyuck said. “How did you get in here?”

“I opened the door?” Mark said.

Donghyuck pursed his lips. “Well. I really should be going.”

“Uh. Okay,” Mark said. Both of them stood there, not moving. Donghyuck’s expression did not change. “Are you… okay?” Mark asked him slowly.

“Yes, fine, thanks!” Donghyuck said cheerily. “Just really in a hurry.”

“You’re… still not moving, though?”

Donghyuck swallowed. “It would be improper to walk ahead of you. You’re of higher rank than I am.”

Mark frowned. “I don’t think that’s a rule anywhere, actually.” He stepped closer, and Donghyuck flinched a little. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little…”

“I’m great, just peachy. I will leave now.”

“Okay,” Mark said. Donghyuck slowly moved the latch on the gate until it slid open with the heavy  _ shlick _ noise of metal on metal. He waited a moment before he let the gate open slightly, and then slipped out as quickly as he could, shutting the gate behind him as soon as he was out. It was just long enough for Mark to spot a group of people behind him, huddled on the floor, among the hay and the dust.

“Hey! What—”

Donghyuck suddenly clasped his palm over Mark’s mouth. Mark’s eyes threatened to bulge out of his head for a moment before Donghyuck pulled back, swearing. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry. Just, please be quiet. Your Highness.”

“What is going on here?” Mark asked, taking a step away so it would be harder to grab him, in case Donghyuck had the sudden urge to do that once again.

“Illegal gambling,” Donghyuck said quickly. “Sorry, won’t use palace grounds again. My bad. Walk with me, please?” Mark hesitated. “ _ Please? _ ”

“Is this supposed to be a secret meeting? Because if so, you’re clearly very bad at finding hiding places. This isn’t very clandestine, is it? I walked right in. Quite easily. And I’m not stupid, you know.”

Donghyuck scowled. “Yes, well. It wasn’t my job to lock the fucking door, was it.”

Mark had the feeling that wasn’t directed at him. Before he could respond, Donghyuck grabbed his arms and started marching with him back to the entrance to the stables. The door swung open easily again— distinctly unlocked. Donghyuck slammed it shut on his way out.

Once they were inside, he turned around, quickly switching their positions so Mark’s back was to the door and he couldn’t just run from the conversation. Mark’s head spun from the sudden movement. Donghyuck’s hands were gripping his biceps, holding him squarely in front of him. He was close enough that the scent of orange was strong in Mark’s nose, like a summer fruit was being peeled right up close. “Look,” Donghyuck said. “This is all very complicated. You just got here, and I don’t want to mess that up. Pretend this didn't happen.”

“What, the gambling?” Mark asked dryly.

Donghyuck breathed a sigh of relief, letting his grip on Mark loosen. “Yes. The gambling.”

“So what is this? Really?”

Donghyuck gave him a long, measured look. “I don’t think you want to know.”

Mark straightened his posture, offended. “I’m not delicate. Tell me. What, drug dealing? Philosophy discussions with a side of mystery? Grassroots politics?”

Donghyuck cocked his head.

“You meet here every week?” Mark asked. Donghyuck didn't respond, which Mark took as a yes. He humphed, crossed his arms. “I’ll be back, then.”   
  
“ _ Why _ ?” Donghyuck asked.

Mark shrugged, a little self-conscious now. Donghyuck narrowed his eyes at him. “What else is there to do? I finished two of your books, by the way. Anyway, I’ll come next week.”

“What makes you think we want you there, princess?” There was a short pause. Donghyuck leaned back, realizing he was a little too close. “Don’t come back, if you know what’s good for you. I’m serious.”

Mark hesitated. “Fine,” he said eventually. Donghyuck let his shoulders drop, finally satisfied with the answer. He moved to leave, but Mark stopped him with a touch to his back.

“What?” he said.

“You’re a tutor,” Mark said.

“I am.”

“Teach me Fukoi.”

Donghyuck raised his eyebrows. “Why would you want to know Fukoi?”

“I’m going to be the second king of this place someday. If all goes well. Shouldn’t I know the language most of my subjects speak? Also, if you don’t help me, I’ll tell Yukhei about your… whatever it is.”

Donghyuck’s lips quirked a little. “You know, all the servants are saying you’re very quiet and polite. Good little omega prince, willing bride, scared to complain. Thought you’d be more boring than this, if I’m being honest.”

Mark blushed. “I’m not boring,” he said.

“Clearly,” Donghyuck replied, rolling his eyes. Then he stuck out his hand to shake.

Mark hesitated. “You promise you’ll teach me?”   
  
Donghyuck met his eyes. “Sure.”   
  
Good enough. Mark shook his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're starting to get into the good stuff! Next chapter, promise. Sorry this one's a little short, the pacing is sort of weird right now. I'll update soon! Lots of time in quarantine, haha.

_ “Is not general incivility the very essence of love? _ ” -Jane Austen,  _ Pride and Prejudice _

A week later, a nervous-looking young servant with thin hair knocked on Mark’s door to lead him to the library. He followed him down the other end of the hallway— a different route from the one Mark had taken the other few times he’d visited the library. It was noon, by the direction of the hands of the huge clock on the wall, three hours after Mark had eaten breakfast with the beta half of the royal family, the King and Crown Prince having gone on some trip.

Donghyuck was waiting at a table in the corner of the large room, slowly nibbling his way through a flaky pastry. Mark made his way over, slamming a huge pile of books down onto the table. Donghyuck looked up, eyebrows quirked, lips smattered with bread crumbs.

“Good afternoon.”   
  
“I finished all the books you gave me,” Mark said.

Donghyuck put his half-eaten pastry back down on his plate and brushed his hands off. The crumbs dispersed themselves throughout his lap. He reached forward for the looming stack of novels, quickly making his way through it as if to remember the titles.

When he finished the last one, he smiled at Mark. “Enjoyed them?”

“Yes,” Mark replied, finally sinking down into the chair opposite Donghyuck. “Not much else to do, rather.”

“I suppose you’ll have more to do now that I’m teaching you.”

“I suppose.”   
  
“Let’s get started!” Donghyuck said, and moved Mark’s stack of books to the floor beside him only to replace it with another. He removed the one on top, a thin book with a worn cover, and slid it in Mark’s direction, flipping it so he could read the title.

Mark squinted. “I don’t know what that says,” he said.

“That’s sort of the point,” Donghyuck said cheerfully. “It’s a Fukoi children’s book, and I’m going to have you reading it by the end of the month.”

Mark flipped open the book, running his fingers along the edges of the paper, scanning the characters, though they meant nothing to him. “That’s a little ambitious,” he said.

“I’m an optimistic man,” Donghyuck quipped. Then he rummaged through his satchel for a moment before coming back up with a notebook. “Tell me all the Fukoi you know.”

“Um… I know how to say hello?  _ Nikya _ . And thank you.  _ Goi utima.” _

_ “Utimo,” _ Donghyuck corrected.

“ _ Goi utimo, _ ” Mark said. “That’s about it.”

“Okay. We’ll start with the basics, then. Do you know how to introduce yourself?”

Mark shook his head.

“ _ Noi kha  _ Donghyuck.  _ No ni kha? _ ”   
  
Mark hesitated a moment before responding, “ _ Noi ka  _ Mark.”   
  
_ “Noi kha,” _ Donghyuck said. “The K sound is more in your throat.”

“ _ Noi kha  _ Mark.”   
  
“Better.  _ No ni tyam  _ means how are you, and  _ noi tyam _ means I am. You can say  _ noi tyam fukri, _ which means I’m well, or  _ noi tyam makhá,  _ meaning I’m okay. Medium.”

“Are there other options?”

Donghyuck made a face. “Sort of. Those are really the only two people use. It’s rude if you say you’re doing really badly.”

“God forbid you’re anything less than okay,” Mark muttered. Donghyuck laughed, and Mark smiled and looked down, pleased with himself.

“The scale does sort of adjust, though. If you say you’re okay, it’s different than if you say it in Tomanese, because there aren’t viable lower options.”

“That almost makes sense.”

Donghyuck cracked a grin, then cleared his throat. “ _ No ni tyam _ ?”

Mark stared. “I forgot what that means.”   
  
“How are you,” Donghyuck translated.

“Um…  _ noi… _ How do you say good?”

“ _ Noi tyam fukri. _ ”

“ _ Noi tyam fukri, _ ” Mark repeated, his mouth shaping strangely around the unfamiliar words. “Sorry. I’m not really good at school. All my tutors back in Kambria hated me.”

“How many of them were there?”

Mark bit his lip. “Three?”

Donghyuck leaned back in his seat. “I’m almost impressed. What were they like?”

“Well, there was a woman first, and then she left the palace when she got married to some lord and moved to his estate in the south, and then there was a really old guy who was a retired treasurer of whatever, and then there was another woman. Supposed to teach me… etiquette, or something.”

“I heard you presented late.”   
  
Mark shifted awkwardly. “Yeah, uh, a little.”   
  
“Anyway,” Donghyuck said, sensing his discomfort. “Maybe they just weren’t very good tutors.”

“Well, in their defense, it wasn’t like it was only me they were teaching. There were a few other kids, my cousins and some other palace children who only lived there in certain seasons. But, you know, they were all better at studying than me. I’ve never been good at that.”

Donghyuck clicked his tongue. “Kids these days. Too busy reading books to learn archaic languages and equations.” There was a small pause. “I’ll make you study tools.”

Mark smiled, tapping his finger on the table absentmindedly. “Thanks.”

“In the meantime, take this language dictionary and practice some basics.”

Donghyuck pushed a large book across the table, and Mark took it from him gingerly, examining the leather cover. The pages were twice as large as his face, and about as wide. Opening it, he found the first page filled with small print text, outlining translations of greetings and basic conversational skills. After the first ten pages, it was divided into groups by alphabetical order, with every word you could think of translated into Fukoi.

“This is… a lot.”

“There’s another for grammar,” Donghyuck said, “but I thought it could wait.”

“Okay.”   
  
“And don’t forget the children’s book! See if you can puzzle out some of what they’re saying, maybe use the dictionary to help.” He lay the book on top of the dictionary in Mark’s arms, and then immediately stood, collecting his things where they were scattered beside him. “Have a good day, Prince Mark. Enjoy the palace.”

“Oh—” Mark glanced at the clock, surprised to see it had already been an hour. “Um, thanks, you too.”   
  
Donghyuck was already gone.

Mark stared at his books for a moment before standing and carrying them back to his room.

He sighed as he shut the door, putting the books down on his dresser. He’d wanted to ask Donghyuck about what he’d walked in on last week, but he couldn’t find the right moment. He needed him to open up first. It was like convincing a cat to let you pet it— you couldn’t approach it, but had to wait until it would approach you.

Mark looked at himself judgmentally in the mirror. “You sound ridiculous,” he told his reflection. He wasn’t a spy, and it wasn’t like he was uncovering some big conspiracy. Still, he needed something to do until the wedding.

Something to do until the wedding in six months, and then something to do for the rest of his life… God.

A knock at the door made Mark jump. “Your Highness?” a soft voice called from the other side. Mark relaxed. It was Jungwoo.

He opened the door, and Jungwoo walked inside and set down a tea tray on the round table at the other end of the room. He’d been bringing two cups lately, and extra biscuits, under the thinly kept guise that Mark requested them. Really, Jungwoo had a sweet tooth. Mark didn't mind; it kept him company.

Mark followed him to the table and sat down in one of the armchairs, facing the window. He watched the clouds move overhead as Jungwoo silently poured the tea. It was one of the few days that the palace didn't see snow, miraculously. Mark felt as if he should be outside.

“I heard you had a tutoring session with Donghyuck.”

“I asked him to teach me Fukoi,” Mark said, and Jungwoo hummed. “Do you speak it?”   
  
Jungwoo dumped a spoonful of sugar into his tea and stirred it carefully. “I do.”   
  
“I would offer to speak it with you, but if I’m being honest, I’m terrible. Perhaps once I improve… It just seemed strange that I would be royalty in this country and not speak its language.”

“Tomanese is also its language.”   
  
“Not for most of the country.”

“Prince Mark…” Jungwoo said, and Mark raised his eyebrows slightly. He usually called him ‘your Highness’, even though Mark had asked him not to. It was a surprising, but welcome, change of pace, even if it wasn’t much of an improvement.

“Yes?”

“There are rumors about Donghyuck. I don’t participate, but I wanted you to know.”

Mark’s hands stilled picking up his tea. “Rumors? What sort?”

“He’s… They say he’s a bit forward and improper.”   
  
Mark squinted. “That’s not much of a rumor.”   
  
“Well, I mean, he’s uncommonly… He tends to, you know.”   
  
“Jungwoo,” Mark said, sighing, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”   
  
Jungwoo pursed his lips, and looked around furtively before leaning forward, setting his teacup down on its saucer with a slight clank. “He’s been seen in improper situations with other omegas, Prince Mark.”

Mark took a sip of his tea. “Have you not slept with other omegas, Jungwoo?”

“Only during heats. That’s a strong rule, you know that. Last summer he got drunk at a ball and danced with a young omega lord from Hannenheim, and it wasn’t just friendly. And the cleaning staff say they heard… other stories.”   
  
Mark blushed.

“I’m not a gossip, and I don’t judge people, but I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to be caught unawares if people are speaking about you two. There are still omegas in and around the palace who were vying for Prince Yukhei’s hand before the King and Queen made a decision, and they’re not the most friendly people. Just be careful, please.”

It was possibly the most Mark had ever heard Jungwoo say at one time.

“Mark?”

Mark looked at him, startled by the use of his name.   
  
“Tell me you’ll be careful?”   
  
He nodded slowly, mute.

“Thank you,” Jungwoo said, sounding genuine, and Mark nodded again. The two of them sat in silence for another minute, drinking their tea and looking out the window, until Mark set down his cup, empty. It was Jungwoo’s cue to leave. He stood gracefully and took the tea tray downstairs with him.

He had a point, but Mark wouldn’t stop talking to Donghyuck. He was the most interesting person he’d encountered around here, not to mention how he still had to figure out what he was doing in the stables and…

And what? Put a stop to it? Join them? It depended on the activity, Mark supposed.

Maybe it was a cult. Or an orgy.

_It’s not an orgy, idiot._   
  
Mark’s eyes fell on the Fukoi dictionary on his dresser, and he rose to retrieve it before returning to his seat, opening the cover. Might as well do something useful until dinnertime.

\--

The king was back by dinner, Yukhei in tow.

As usual, Jungwoo and Taeyong were serving, though Doyoung was absent. Mark had learned their names in the past week, with Jungwoo’s help, though he hadn’t seen them much outside of meal times. In Doyoung’s place was a different boy, a few years younger than Mark, by his estimate. His jacket’s shoulders were too wide for him.

Dinner was beef stew with a healthy serving of alcohol. The king had had three glasses of wine already and said about as many words.

Jungwoo bent over next to Mark to fill his glass with more water, and the king, without any shame whatsoever, took a handful of his ass— 

And squeezed.

Jeno stumbled mid-sentence. The water jug jerked, and the liquid spilled over the lip of Mark’s cup. Jungwoo gasped, setting the jug down on the table and scrambling to retrieve a rag from his belt. “I’m sorry, your Highness,” Jungwoo said breathlessly. “Are your pants wet?”

Mark shook his head. “N-no, they’re fine.”

The rag was too thin to be very absorbent, so Jungwoo was essentially just spreading the water around on the wooden table. Mark quietly took it from him and swept the small puddle off the edge of the table. Jungwoo, cheeks red, took his water jug and stepped back.

King Hyunho took another drink of wine. In his peripheral vision, Mark saw Jungwoo discreetly wipe under his eyes with his sleeve. Taeyong glanced at him.

Jeno cleared his throat quietly. “Jaemin says training is going well. New troops arrive in March.”

“March?” the king asked. “I thought I said February.”

Jeno fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth. “You said March.”

“Make it February.”   
  
“Yes, sir. May I be excused.” It wasn’t really a question, but the king waved his hand in agreement anyway and Jeno pushed his chair away from the table. The metal heels of his boots clicked on the floor as he walked out of the room, echoing in his wake.

“Nice weather we’re having,” the queen commented pleasantly. “I might take a horse out tomorrow and enjoy it. Would you like to join me, Prince Mark?”   
  
“I— Yes, of course. I’m actually feeling quite tired; I was up late reading.”

It was an unspoken question, but the queen nodded and Mark stood. “Jungwoo? Come draw me a bath?”

Jungwoo blinked. “Your Highness, I’m—”   
  
Taeyong took the water jug from him silently, and Jungwoo ducked his head and followed Mark out of the room. They walked in silence up the stairs to Mark’s room, footsteps muffled on the thick carpet covering the wooden floor. Once inside, Mark closed the door behind them. Jungwoo quickly opened it again.

“Jungwoo.”   
  
“Just a moment to fetch the hot water stones, your Highness.” And then he was gone.

Mark closed his eyes and slumped onto his bed. The sun had gone down, and all that was left of the daylight was weakly streaming across his floor in a failed attempt to fill the room. The blankets were cold under his palms, and he shivered. He was wearing the warmer clothes he and Yukhei had bought, but it was like the chill was inside his bones rather than coming from the air. It crept through the wool and the cotton and the fur and burrowed itself inside his veins, like a parasite seeking to leech the life from him.

Jungwoo had such silent footsteps that Mark didn't even know he was in the room until he heard running water. His eyes opened in shock, and there he was, churning the water pump so the pipe spewed cold water into the bath, the bottom already lined with smooth black rocks. Mark could see the steam rising from the water, shimmering in the air in a perfect twin to a desert mirage. 

His eyes were red. Mark couldn’t think of anything to say to help, so he allowed Jungwoo to unbutton his thick collared tunic and pour rose oils into the bath and retrieve the hot stones (now cool, having given their heat to the water). And without a word, he climbed inside.

Jungwoo swished his hand through the water gently for a moment, and Mark chewed on his lip.

“Does that—” he started, but Jungwoo interrupted him.

“Is it warm enough, your Highness?”

“Call me Mark, Jungwoo,” he said softly. “Please.”   
  
Jungwoo cleared his throat. “Is it warm enough, Mark?”   
  
Mark sighed. “Yes. Thank you.”

There were a few moments in which all that was heard was the slight drip of water from the pipe, little droplets falling into the bath with quiet plinks. Jungwoo cupped his hands together and began to pour water onto his hair, blocking his face with his other hand like a mother would to a child so the soap wouldn’t get in their eyes. Mark gripped his wrist to stop him, and Jungwoo just stared. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark said eventually.

“Don’t be,” Jungwoo said.

“Does that happen often?”   
  
Jungwoo sighed slightly. “Don’t worry. Please.”

“I didn't ask if I should worry, I asked how often the king does things like that.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“He’s the king. He can do what he wants. Goodnight, your Highness.”

Mark scoffed. “Jungwoo—”

“ _ Goodnight _ , Mark,” Jungwoo said, and then he picked up the bucket of damp stones and left the room.

And Mark was alone.

Jungwoo had left the tray with the rest of the things for bathing, so Mark worked the soap and oils into his hair and dipped his head back to rinse it off.

He slowly climbed out of the bath, unhooking the plug so the water would drain back through the pipe. His skin was slick and smooth, smelling of roses, and his hair wet. There was a towel hanging on the door that he used to dry off and then he climbed into bed, naked.

Mark hated how quickly he was comforted by the familiar silky sheets, sinking into the mattress like settling dough. He didn't deserve the comfort, the warmth. It wasn’t home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! This update's longer, though.

_ “Forever is composed of nows” _ -Emily Dickinson,  _ poem 690 _

The stables were busy, at least compared to the last time Mark had been. Mark counted four stable boys bustling around the place, as well as the attendants of the queen (two beta women who trailed behind her, carrying food). Mark already owned boots for the occasion, brown leather ones that were slightly worn but still sturdy, but it turned out the queen had riding boots made for him. The edge of the toe was gold. The clasp of his sky blue cloak was gold, too, a shiny pin connecting the fabric below his chin. The hood draped over his head, slightly too large in a way that provided extra warmth.

The queen had insisted they go out early, and the sun was just beginning to rise in the east, slowly but surely struggling upwards, spilling orange ink across the horizon, bleeding through the clouds and over the mountains. In the baskets she’d had her attendants bring lay an assortment of breakfast foods. It would be the first meal Mark had outside of the dining room, comparatively dark and stifling and oppressive.

The horses were ready. The queen’s horse was a tall stallion named Daoji, with rippling muscles visible under his sleek bay coat. Mark’s was a docile mare named Mazu with white and gray hair, slightly patchy and shaggy as her long winter coat was coming in. She hardly seemed to notice when the stable boys touched her.

Mark was a little insulted that they’d given him what seemed to be little more than a training pony, given that he’d ridden plenty in Kambria. He neglected to say anything, though, biting his lip as one of the boys made a mistake cleaning her hoof and dug too hard into the frog. Still, Mazu just stood there, lazily staring into the distance.

One of the stable boys knelt and laced his fingers together, and Mark awkwardly used them as a stepping stool to get into the saddle. Several pairs of hands were immediately on him as he swung his leg up, anticipating a mistake or a fall.

“I do know how to ride a horse,” he finally said, as politely as he could, and they all stepped back, cheeks red. The only one who stayed patiently waited, holding the reins, until Mark took them from him. The saddle was comforting under him, the reins familiar in his hands, the stirrups perfectly adjusted to his height.

The queen’s attendants had mounted two brown ponies behind them, and were waiting. The queen took her time adjusting her sleek riding gloves, but then she turned in her saddle to smile at Mark, and dug her heels into Daoji’s side to send him into a trot. She tugged on the reins slightly to slow him down and allow Mark to catch up to her.

“Walk,” Mark told Mazu, and she started. He found spurs dramatic when they weren’t necessary, and since Mazu was a training horse, she didn't need much force. Probably used to children on her back.

The air was clean and cold, and Mark’s cheeks were already numb. Still, the slight breeze on his face as he caught up to the queen was refreshing. Mark closed his eyes.

There was a wide trail leading straight from the gardens into the woods surrounding the north side of the palace, framed on both sides by trees, both evergreen and barren. Mazu’s hooves made a rhythmic clomping sound on the frozen ground as they rode.

After a few minutes, the queen spoke. “How are you finding the palace? I do hope we aren’t boring you.”

“Not at all,” Mark said, barely registering the question and replying automatically.   
  
There was another lapse of silence for a moment, and then the queen said, “These trees bear fruit during the summer.”

Mark knew she would think him ill-mannered if he didn't make an effort to pick up the conversation, so he asked, “What sort?”   
  
“Persimmons, mostly. Apples. Some oranges, on the sunny side of the mountain. When I was younger, I would sneak away from Hyunho and my responsibilities and find an orange tree to climb, and I’d sit there eating and getting burnt by the sun for hours. They’d only find me because I would drop the peels on the ground.” Mark didn't respond. “If I really wanted to hide, I’d go somewhere else.”

At this, she tugged the reins sharply, and Daoji veered to the left. Mazu halted, bewildered. The queen rode completely off the path, between two tall pine trees dusted with snow. Mark didn't hesitate to follow. Glancing back, he saw that the queen’s attendants were right behind them.

It was immediately darker and cooler under the cover of the trees, and Mark didn't immediately realize they were on a different path. But they were— the soil beneath them was packed down, a thin line of dead grass winding through the trees. It wasn’t wide enough for the two of them to ride side by side, so Mark stayed close behind the queen’s horse, unable to see around to what lay ahead.

They rode for at least an hour, by Mark’s estimate, until Daoji came to a stop. The queen slid off his back gracefully and tied the reins around a tree branch. Mark followed suit, swinging his leg over the side and hopping down from his stirrup. Mazu obeyed easily, if slowly, when he led her to the side of the path. Before he could tie her reins around something, though, one of the attendants was there, taking them from him.

He walked forward, to where the queen was standing, looking at something. When he rounded the corner, he saw what it was.

It was hard to tell, at first, the shape— the stone was covered with moss and snow, and bits had been chipped off the edges, though it was unclear whether by nature or man. The sheer size of the thing was shocking. It was several times taller than Mark, and it would have towered over any ordinary-sized tree, but this deep in the forest, the trees had grown tall enough that the head was just below level with their tops.

It was a statue of a woman. A naked woman, eyes closed and arms stretched out, palms facing toward the sky. There were several hollow divets in the stone where jewels must once have been, and Mark couldn’t help but imagine them there now. Blood-red rubies set into her cheeks like tear drops, perfectly round pearls dotting the ancient skin of her hands. An especially large hole had been left in her navel, where her belly button might have been. Mark couldn’t imagine what would have gone there, only that it must have been expensive to install.

“How old is this thing?” Mark breathed, entranced.

“I don’t know,” the queen said, not sounding at all bothered by this. “A few centuries, at least.” She took a step forward, and then sat on a stone bench Mark hadn’t even noticed. She patted the spot beside her, and Mark sat down compliantly.

“She’s a Fukoi deity. Goddess of the earth. Or, rather, life. Nature. Half the land we now own used to belong to the native faith, somewhat of a sacred ground. The mountain the palace sits on is the highest in the valley.” The palace itself wasn’t at the top of course; it was a steep climb from where it was nestled in the folds of the mountain to the very peak. “They considered it holy, the closest thing to the sun.”

“ _No ni kha_?” Mark murmured absentmindedly.

“Kiuyat, I think, from my reading,” the queen responded. “She’d had several names. It wasn’t a very organized religion, after all.”

“You speak Fukoi?” Mark asked, surprised.

“Only a little,” she said, smiling. “I was born to a Fukoi family—”

“But the lord of the town you were born in took you in as a ward when they died,” Mark finished. He’d read about it, the show of friendship between the Fukoi commoners and the Tomanese upper class, the meeting between King Hyunho and Eunhwa at an annual ball during peacetime, the unusual but surprisingly strategic marriage. “Sorry,” he blurted out.

Queen Eunhwa laughed, the sound high and piercing in the solemn quiet of the clearing. “Someone did their research.”   
  
“I just— I didn't know you spoke it.”

“I don’t remember any from birth, but it’s hard not to pick up a few things. The simplest phrases.”   
  
“Lee Donghyuck is teaching me. I can’t say I’m any good, but…”   
  
“Mark, forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I want to give you some advice,” the queen said suddenly. She was leaning towards Mark on the bench, imploring posture reminiscent of the statue looming above them.

“N-not at all,” Mark stammered.

“If you can’t love your husband, love your country. If you can’t love your country, love your people. I love my son, but even someone blind with motherly affection can see that it’s not the easiest thing to marry a man you just met for the good of your country. It’s not about love. Run off to this place, if you need to. Climb as many orange trees as you can. Flush it out of your system. And then keep quiet. For the good of us all, know your place.”

Mark swallowed. “I know my  _ place _ , your Majesty.”

The queen smiled slightly, looking at her hands folded in her lap. “You haven’t learnt to bite your tongue quite hard enough. You’re young. You’re foreign, and you’re an omega. And this country has enveloped you as a tool conducive to peace, to make a stronger ally of Kambria—”

“With all due respect—” Mark started, but was cut off.

“—and opening your mouth will help nobody. Not the king or the kingdom, or your servant friend Jungmin.”

“Jungwoo,” Mark muttered quietly.

“You seem like a lovely young omega, Mark. Stay that way.”

“What, lovely?”   
  
“Lovely. Quiet. I’m dearly sorry that you haven’t been informed of this already, but you are a decoration.”

He’d been informed.

“If you must do what you want, have the decency to do it silently. Stay behind the curtain. Apinya! Chunhua!” She clapped her hands, and her two attendants, who had been hovering by the horses and pretending not to eavesdrop, snapped to action.

There was a full picnic in front of them in no time, a thick blanket spread out over the ground and several baskets set in the middle. There were fruit, pastries, several types of jam, bowls of rice and runny eggs (somehow still warm), canteens of juice.

The queen daintily arranged herself on the blanket, letting her cloak pool around her waist and her skirt fall over her crossed legs. Mark, feeling stubborn and hot-headed, like a scolded child, reluctantly sat down at the other end of the blanket. His stomach growled insistently. It had been several hours since he’d woken up, and he’d had nothing but water. The queen hummed as she buttered a croissant and handed it to him, and he began chewing.

“It’s good you’ve taken it upon yourself to further your education,” she commented. “Donghyuck is a talented teacher. He’s done wonders for Jeno.”

“I’m sure," Mark said, and drank his juice.

—

It had been a Friday when Mark had stumbled into Donghyuck’s meeting in the stables, so it was Friday when he returned. Again, the stables were empty, but this time Mark made his way down the aisle, scrutinizing the inside of each stall. Nothing. He returned to his room empty-handed, but he had something to say at his and Donghyuck’s next tutoring session.

_ “Saí no ni tukya melyarat banhi?” _

Donghyuck stared at Mark, cup of tea still in hand. He was standing over their table in the library, holding the books Donghyuck had given him.

“ _ Saí no niya _ , past tense,” was all he said.

Mark didn't break his gaze. “ _ Saí no niya tukya melyarat banhi?” _

“Someone’s been using their translation dictionary. Good work. I’d suggest we work on simpler phrases first, though. Sit.”   
  
Mark wilted, bravado forgotten, and sat down.  _ What was your secret meeting about? _ he’d asked. It had taken him forever to find how to say it in the dictionary, and Donghyuck wouldn’t even answer him.

“ _ No si ai tarya?”  _ Donghyuck asked instead.

Mark frowned, taking a moment to translate the words in his head. “Ready for what?”

“The ball tonight.  _ Oitha. _ ”   
  
“Doesn’t that mean party?”

“It doesn’t translate directly.  _ No si ai? _ ” Donghyuck repeated.   
  
“I guess,” Mark said. “Doesn’t matter. I finished the kid’s book.”

Donghyuck raised his eyebrows. “Quick,” he said.   
  
“Nothing else to do.”

“There’s plenty to do. Take up archery. Horse jumping. Horseback archery.”   
  
“Ha,” Mark said in a poor imitation of a laugh.

Donghyuck blinked. “ _ Yustrat. _

“What?”

“Grumpy,” Donghyuck translated. “Why are you grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy.”   
  
“Yes, you are.”

Mark sighed. It was impossible to get through an hour with Donghyuck sometimes. “Fine. I’m grumpy. Is that what you wanted to hear?”   
  
Donghyuck frowned. “No.”

There was a long silence before Mark pushed the children’s book to Donghyuck and stood up. The chair squeaked slightly on the wooden floor, too loud in the hushed and echoic library. His cup of tea, set in front of him by Donghyuck, was left untouched. As he turned, a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Why are you leaving?” Donghyuck said. Looking over his shoulder, Mark saw he looked concerned, his eyebrows knit together and normally pouty lips pursed.

Mark shrugged. The tutor’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, warmth seeping through his sweater. “I don’t feel like learning anything,” he told him.

Donghyuck thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s just… sit.”   
  
“I’m too restless to just sit.”   
  
“Then let’s take a walk. It’s unseasonably warm today.”   
  
It was snowing, but the drifts were gentle and soft, more water than ice, and there was no wind. It wasn’t warm, not anything like home, but it wasn’t freezing.

“I— I’d need a coat,” Mark said.

“We’ll find you one.”   
  
And Mark didn't have any arguments left, so he nodded, and Donghyuck disappeared for a moment to put away his things and then returned slightly out of breath and smiling. He led Mark down the hallway and into the right wing of the castle, and they emerged into the gardens soon enough. Miraculously, one of the guards stationed at the doors to the gardens had a coat for him.

The chill hit him the moment he stepped outside. He closed his eyes, snowflakes collecting in his eyelashes and sitting there, patiently waiting to melt.

“Tell me about Kambria,” Donghyuck said, and Mark opened his eyes. He had started walking, and Mark had to jog to catch up to him.

“You don’t waste any time,” he said drily, but when no response came, he did. “We don’t have winter. The gardens are never barren like this; there’s always something in bloom. The grass is greenest in spring, and driest in winter, and I guess it would be green during monsoon season, but you never get to see the color in the sun because it’s always raining. Floods the rice fields and everything. We have to wear boots, because everything gets muddy. I’ve stepped wrong and fallen into a mud puddle up to my waist before.”

“It gets muddy in the spring here,” Donghyuck said. “All the snow trickles down from the mountains and the ground turns to sludge. The flowers only really come in summer.”

“What kind?” Mark whispered.

Donghyuck stole a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, maybe at the tone of Mark’s voice, but Mark pretended not to see it and Donghyuck pretended not to have looked. “Almond blossoms, mostly. A lot of them. These little dark pink ones, too, but I don’t know what kind they are. Those are just the ones on trees, though. If you go to the sunny side of the mountains, and near the bottoms of the valleys, there are wildflowers everywhere. Crimson columbines, blue columbines, forget-me-nots, the droopy white ones. A few that look like camellias but smaller and spikier. Oh! Lots of lavender, too.”   
  
“Where’d you learn the word crimson columbine?” Mark asked, laughing a little.

“I read a lot, asshole,” Donghyuck said, and then his eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.”

Mark smiled, eyebrows quirking at Donghyuck’s expression. “It’s fine.”   
  
Donghyuck shot a look at the various guards at the edges of the gardens. A few were looking back at him. Donghyuck took a step away from Mark, bowing deeply. If his arms were limp, they would have grazed the ground. “Your Highness,” he said. Mark just stared.

Donghyuck rose, hair slightly out of place. Quietly, he muttered, “I’ll see you at the ball.”

The gardens were colder once he retreated inside.

—

Mark wore a deep orange wrap tunic with shimmery gold detailing to the ball, and Jungwoo had gracefully arranged a delicate chain of little gold balls around his head and shoulders. If Mark turned his head fast enough, they shone and blurred with light. His slippers matched, soft leather and gold. The pants were loose and square, ending around his shins, an awkward length that tickled as he walked. The entire thing, the shirt and pants, was called a kipda, a traditional outfit that wasn’t usually as dressed up as this.

“Will you be in the room?” Mark asked.

“I’m serving tonight, so yes,” Jungwoo responded, possibly the longest string of words Mark had gotten out of him all night.

“Wonderful. I’ll come hide with you once Yukhei’s done parading me.”

Jungwoo sighed. “You can’t just sneak off and stand next to your servant the entire night. People will talk.”   
  
“They’ll talk no matter what I do.”

“Well then make it be about good things,” Jungwoo said, and spun Mark around by the shoulders to survey his hair one last time. “You look marvelous.”   
  
“That’s because you’re talented,” Mark said, and Jungwoo scoffed.

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

There was a knock at the door, at which both of them startled, and Jungwoo quickly scurried over to answer. Before he turned the knob, he said over his shoulder to Mark, “Just be yourself.”   
  
Terrible advice, honestly.

The person behind the door was Jaehyun, the alpha attending of the prince. He wore the same black and white uniform as Jungwoo, though it looked different given Jungwoo’s lankiness and Jaehyun’s broad shoulders. “His Highness is ready and delighted to escort his Highness to the ball,” he said to Jungwoo.

“I’m ready,” Mark said before Jungwoo could respond, probably in bad taste given their expressions. After a moment, Jaehyun just bowed deeply and stepped aside, allowing Mark to pass him into the hallway, Jungwoo on his heels.

Yukhei was waiting at the top of the staircase, wearing an ensemble similar to Mark’s but dark blue and less flimsy. Instead of slippers, he wore impeccably shined boots, which his pants were tucked into, ballooning slightly out the sides. His hair was perfectly styled up and neat, coiffed back, the longer strands tucked behind his ears.

He smiled when he saw Mark, so enthusiastically that a piece of hair fell out of place, and Mark smiled back, unsure. He stepped up beside him, and Yukhei offered his arm. Mark didn't hesitate to take it (daintily, as per instructions), and the two of them began down the stairs, Jaehyun and Jungwoo at a middling distance behind the procession. It was the closest Mark had been to Yukhei, and he could discern his scent with a new clarity. He smelled of pine. Like the forest the queen had brought Mark to that morning.

The royal family was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Jeno shifting his weight impatiently from foot to foot as he fussed with the collar of his shirt and shook out his sleeves like there was a stray pebble or maybe a bug inside. The king and queen stood proper and regal, Queen Eunhwa with such impeccable posture that a bird would have landed on her head without noticing she was real. The fading sunlight from the windows glinted on the silver crown nestled into her hair and the matching jewelry adorning her wrists and ankles. The silk of her dress rustled as she smoothed it down.

The king was very broad and impervious and kingly.

The queen smiled at Mark as they met eyes, and he looked away quickly, still sore over her admonishment that morning.

“All the guests are waiting for our entrance,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see you, Prince Mark. The color of kipda suits you perfectly.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Mark said, still avoiding her eyes.

The rest of the family weren’t wearing kipda, but rather a simpler and more modern style of suits and dresses. But he and Yukhei were engaged, officially. It was custom. He felt strange in the bright color and the distinctive cut, though; out of place. Jarring.

“Shall we?” the queen said, still flashing her smile at them. The king grunted and the five of them began their march down the hall to the ballroom.

The doors were opened by the two servants standing nearby, whose sole job seemed to be opening the doors, and they entered. The room had fallen from a dull roar to a bubbling, inconstant murmur as the man standing at the entrance to the ballroom announced their presence. Everyone in the room stood still in their places, and bowed once the introduction was finished.

The king and queen went first, then Jeno, and then the Prince and him. Really, it should have been Jeno last, but it was more dramatic to have the new fiancé revealed last of all.

The murmur increased steadily as they all walked down the steps. The king and queen proceeded onto the throne platform, but the three young princes took a left as the small orchestra jumped straight into another song without much preamble and the grand, echoing room was filled again with music.

Mark was still hanging on to Yukhei’s arm, less out of pretense now than necessity. The ballroom somehow seemed bigger when there were people inside. He’d seen it before, empty and yawning and beautiful, even without any purpose, but it was different when it was being put to use. Maybe it was because it was crowded enough that Mark sometimes couldn’t see the edges of the room, couldn’t get his bearings as to where exactly he was.

A middle-aged woman bumped into Mark and quickly bowed, stumbling a little. Everyone seemed like they’d had two glasses of wine and might be working on the second.

“We should—”   
  
Mark jumped at the words spoken into his ear so closely, the warmth of Yukhei’s breath startling. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly.

“We should go get a drink and catch up to everyone,” Yukhei finished.

Mark huffed out a short laugh and nodded his agreement, and Yukhei pulled him along by the arm to the several long tables arranged at the end of the room, several servants standing behind them in crisp black outfits. The prince retrieved two flutes of champagne, handing one to Mark. The liquid shone like diluted gold in the warm, sparkling light of the ballroom provided by the chandeliers overhead. Thick bubbles rose to the top and popped, sending the bittersweet smell into the air and forcing Mark to close his eyes as he drank so he wouldn’t get sprayed in the eye.

Yukhei downed his entire flute of champagne in one go, and then snagged a complicated-looking hors d’oeuvre from a silver tray and popped it in his mouth decisively. Mark tried not to stare.

“Something with salmon and cucumber, I think,” he informed Mark through a full mouth, barely managing to keep crumbs from falling on his kipda.

“Charming, Xuxi,” someone said, and Mark turned to see Jeno standing beside them with his own flute of champagne cradled delicately in his grasp as he surveyed the room. “I think the dancing will begin soon. Try not to step on your fiancé’s feet.” And with that, Jeno patted Yukhei on the shoulder and walked away.

As if the conductor had heard Jeno cue them, the orchestra began to play the intro to a song Mark recognized. The ballroom instantly rearranged: those wishing to avoid dancing retreated to the outskirts to watch, and everyone else got into pairs spaced across the floor. Without any words, the people nearest to Mark and Yukhei parted.

Mark made the mistake of glancing at the queen, whose eyes glinted meaningfully as they crossed the floor.

Everyone was staring at them, even the other couples, though they pretended not to. Mark swallowed tightly as they bowed to each other.

The violin started up its excited leading melody and as the two of them rose to make eye contact, Mark couldn’t stop thinking,  _ We should have rehearsed this. We should have rehearsed this. Why didn't— _

And then their palms were meeting and Mark’s feet knew the steps from muscle memory alone. He was sure if he concentrated too hard on what was happening he would stumble, brain working a few seconds behind his body, so he let himself not think about it. There was a lot of light stomping and hopping and arm twirling and then his vision was spinning, filled with a blur of golden light, and he was handed off to his next partner. He didn't realize he had been frowning in concentration until he let out a sigh of relief that they hadn’t messed it up.

“Kambria’s lovely this time of year,” his partner, some diplomat from the east, was saying.

“You’ve been?” Mark responded.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to visit.”

Mark hummed politely, and the dance demanded they switch partners again. It was essentially a large circle, and by the time the song was over, Mark had been passed around to everyone in it and made the same cordial exchange of words several times. His armpits were sweaty, and he was grateful the material was relatively dark and sleek, so it wasn’t obvious. His hair, which Jungwoo had arranged so perfectly, was thankfully holding up well, save for the little gilt seed pearls strung around his head sagging a bit.

He had completely lost sight of Yukhei between the flashy dresses and swishing jacket sleeves, so he made his way toward the edge of the ballroom, attempting to get out of dancing range to catch his breath. He wasn’t fast enough, though. Right before he disappeared, someone stepped in front of him and lightly touched his arm.

“Prince Mark? Moon Taeil, ambassador to the province of Kunyan,” he said, bowing. “I hope I’m not intruding, but would you join me for the next dance?”

Mark only let himself hesitate for a moment before he took Taeil’s outstretched hand. “I would love to,” he said, resigning himself to his fate.

Thankfully, the next dance was much less boisterous. Almost everyone in the room was dancing this time, since it was easier and slower than the last. More for conversation than anything. As Taeil led him into the crowd once again, Mark gave himself a moment to search for Jungwoo with his eyes, hoping to make a beeline to wherever he was after this was over. He found nothing, though.

They began to dance.

“How are you finding Yulan, your Highness?” Taeil asked.

Mark smiled, getting ready for another repeat of the same small talk. “It’s a lovely country. I’m grateful to have been received here so well.”   
  
“I’m glad,” Taeil said, but then without skipping a beat he continued, “I don’t know how much you know about our country’s geography, but my province, Kunyan, is only an hour or so’s carriage ride from the palace. We’re a small province, but we sustain most of Yulan’s agriculture, being in the sunniest area with nearby rivers.”   
  
Mark nodded, slightly confused. “I’m sure you’re proud.”   
  
“Very. The thing is, Yulan has been unable to import grain for a while due to new legislation, and it’s put a lot of pressure on us to provide everything for the entirety of the country. There’s been very heavy snowfall predicted this winter, and we’re nestled in a valley bordered by mountains. I’m hearing worries about the crop fields flooding come spring, and I’ve submitted a report to King Hyunho addressing my people’s concerns. We’re constructing a plan to build a dam in the valley. He’s a very busy man, you understand.”   
  
“Yes, I—”   
  
“So I’m sure it would mean much more coming from a closer source to him. You wouldn’t mind mentioning the dam to your fiancé, would you? I wouldn’t ask, of course, except that it’s a delicate issue and I’m afraid I’ve been unable to approach the king on amicable terms.”

“Oh.” Mark blinked, and the violins suddenly stopped.

“You’re a good man,” Taeil said, patting Mark’s hand like an uncle, and then he walked off.

Mark shook his head, thoughts spinning as he tried to catch up with the conversation, having barely gotten a word in edgewise. The man was baffling.

The dance might have been much simpler than the first, but the combined body heat of everyone in the ballroom moving around under the warm yellow light of the chandeliers hanging above was enough to make Mark feel stifled. He shuffled his way out of the middle of the room, brushing past various politicians and affluent merchants. He scanned all the servants standing around the edges of the room and near the food tables, but they were all wearing the same thing, and Mark quickly gave up trying to find Jungwoo.

His first thought was to retreat to the balcony to which the large bay windows of the ballroom led, but it was occupied by multiple couples already.

Conveniently, there was a side door in the corner near the food, and Mark slipped through unnoticed.

The cold air was a shock. He hadn’t realized the door led outside until it had already shut behind him. Still, the chill was welcome. Mark had never thought he would be grateful for the cold in Yulan until now, but here he was. It was a smaller balcony attached to the other side of the room, at a ninety degree angle from the other.

“Not having fun?” a voice said, and Mark startled badly, stumbling back against the wall. He realized a moment later that it was only Donghyuck, standing next to the tall bush in the corner of the balcony. He was wearing a plain black suit like all the other servants, for once. His hands, in thin leather gloves, hung over the railing.

“Didn't mean to frighten you, your Highness,” he said, laughing.

In lieu of a proper response to that, Mark asked, “Why are you wearing gloves?”   
  
Donghyuck looked down at his hands as if he hadn’t noticed they were there, turning his wrists to examine his palms. “Fashion, I suppose.”   
  
“Hm.”   
  
Donghyuck glanced up at him at this. “What? You find this suspicious?”   
  
“No. I’d chalk it up to poor taste, if nothing else,” Mark said.

Donghyuck laughed, a sharp, surprised sound that rang out in the air, all the way to the mountain’s peak. “Would you rather I take them off?”   
  
“That’s your decision,” Mark said.

Donghyuck just hummed, and stripped the gloves off his hands, shoving them into his coat pocket indelicately. His hands glowed in the moonlight, delicate and gold, and Mark couldn’t help but look up to his face to see if it glowed just the same. When he looked up, though, Donghyuck was already looking at him. He glanced away quickly, hoping the low light would hide the redness in his face.

For the first time in his life, Donghyuck said nothing.

“You and the prince gave quite a performance there,” he finally remarked, after a few seconds of empty silence.

“I was so nervous, I think I blacked out,” Mark said honestly.

Donghyuck gave that same bark of laughter as before. “Well then it’s a miracle you didn't break his feet.”   
  
“How could I possibly manage that?”

“Not sure. Knowing you, you’d figure out a way.”

_ You don’t know me, _ Mark thought. But maybe it wasn’t entirely true. Donghyuck, at least, knew him better than everyone else in this country. “Thanks for your faith in me,” he said instead of any of this. “I’m honored.”   
  
“You should be. I don’t give out many compliments.”   
  
“That was a compliment?” Mark asked incredulously.

Donghyuck looked at him, offended. “I said you put on quite a performance.”   
  
“Tone is everything,” Mark said.

“I suppose.”

They both stood there for another minute before Mark stepped up to join Donghyuck against the railing, leaning over the palace grounds below. The stars were beginning to multiply in the sky above as the night deepened. Mark was glad there were no clouds. It was a full moon, and with all the snow reflecting the silvery light, it was bright enough to see everything down to the base of the mountains in the distance. It was beautiful. It was cold, though, and Mark was starting to shiver, having gotten through the intolerable heat that had come to him inside.

“Why are you out here instead of inside?” Mark asked.

“I could ask you the same question,” Donghyuck pointed out. When Mark didn't respond, though, he sighed. “I was invited, but I didn't want to dance.”   
  
“There are plenty of eligible bachelors out there. I’m engaged, but if someone was looking…”   
  
“I’m not,” Donghyuck said. Mark peered at him out of the corner of his eye. “Looking, I mean.”

Mark took a breath to speak, and then let it out again, losing his nerve. After another breath: “There are rumors about you.”

Donghyuck’s bare fingers, which had been tapping against the cold metal of the balcony railing, stilled. “Do you believe them?”

“Do you want me to?”

Donghyuck stared at him, expressionless, before snickering and looking back down. “Touché.”

“I’m getting too cold out here to think,” Mark said, and took a step back, making a move to grab the door handle.

“ _ Noi khaminya no fulti presoso vuthli tukna koi sakutra _ ,” Donghyuck said suddenly.

Mark paused. “What does that mean?”   
  
Donghyuck smiled. “I guess you’ll just have to study hard and find out.”

Mark’s heart wanted to beat outside of his chest. His hands wanted to touch something alive. He didn't let either do what it wanted. Instead, he walked back inside the ballroom.

Instantly, he found Yukhei. It was like he decided when he wanted to be found by Mark, because it seemed impossible he hadn’t seen him earlier. He was tall, and wearing a jewel-tone kipda, and his voice got very loud once he’d had more than a few sips of champagne. He was, all in all, difficult to miss.

“Mark!” he said, eyes becoming wide, and stretched his hand out for Mark to take. He did, daintily, and Yukhei pulled him into a small circle of conversation. “My fiancé from Kambria. He managed to disappear!”   
  
“Hello,” Mark said, dipping his head to everyone looking at him.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Yukhei said, and everyone smiled, vaguely indulgent of the prince’s behavior.

“Your mother doesn’t think so,” he muttered. Clearly, it had been a little louder than he’d anticipated, because the faces of Yukhei’s friends went slack.

Mark had no idea what came over him, but he didn't want to be wonderful, or lovely, so he twisted his hand out of Yukhei’s grip. Yukhei was surprised enough that his hand went limp, so it was easy to slip away to hover by the food table with the servants. Jungwoo was still nowhere to be seen, but it was easy enough to slowly eat his way through the snacks waiting on literal silver platters and pretend he was even half still in control of his actions.

Something was wrong with him. The queen had noticed when he wasn’t even doing anything, and now he’d given her something to complain about. Where had that even come from?   
  
The queen was right. He didn't have the right to come here and start feeling entitled to whatever he wanted, like a spoiled child. It was ridiculous. Everyone knew why he’d come here: to make little ally babies and make his uncle the king happy back in Kambria. There was no use pretending anything else.

He couldn’t apologize here, though, in front of all these people. His face was so red already, just eating crab salad and regretting his actions. He wouldn’t survive the embarrassment.   
  
The clock in the corner of the room was ticking closer to eleven o’clock, when the dance would end. He just had to wait until the servants went to bed, and then he would go to Yukhei’s chambers to apologize. The guards would still talk, of course, but with much less vigor. And if he only stayed for a few minutes, it would hopefully be enough to convince them nothing was going on under their noses.

When the dance finally ended, ten minutes after it was supposed to, Mark said his goodnights and thank you’s to the king and queen, not looking the queen in the eye in case she’d been told what he’d said, and slipped out. The lobby was full of guests filing out slowly in their finery, chatting with each other and taking last bites of hors d’oeuvres. He avoided the crowd by taking the servants’ stairs to the left rather than the main staircase. Jungwoo had shown him. He wasn’t supposed to, but what were they going to do? He was the prince.

Jungwoo was already in his room when he got there, which seemed impossible.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked as Mark stripped off his outer layers until he was down to his undergarments, thin white shorts and a shirt.

“I couldn’t find you,” Mark said, ignoring the question.

“I wasn’t there.”

Mark looked at him, brow furrowed. “I was looking for you. You said you would be there.”

“Because you were nervous, Mark. I thought it might help to think I was nearby.”   
  
Mark humphed, too preoccupied to chase the issue, and sagged down onto his bed, yawning exaggeratedly. “I’m tired.”

Jungwoo folded his kipda neatly and stacked it in his basket along with old sheets to clean. “I was going to run you a bath. Always nice to feel clean before you get into bed.”

“Not tonight. I just want to sleep.”   
  
“If you say so,” Jungwoo said. He made one last pass around the room to check for things to do before leaving, turning off the oil lamp as he went and closing the door softly behind him.

Mark sat up in the dark as soon as he was gone and walked to the window, pulling open the curtains to let in the moonlight. It was probably too soon to sneak over to Yukhei’s rooms, but he really was tired, and he couldn’t let himself fall asleep. He had to wait it out.

He picked up one of the books on his dresser and tucked himself into the window seat. There was just enough light to read by streaming through. There was no clock in his room, so he read two chapters and then, hoping that was enough, put on a modest robe to cover himself and silently tiptoed into the hall.

Yukhei was a straight shot down the corridor, on the opposite end from Mark’s, where the staircase was in the middle. King Hyunho and Queen Eunhwa’s chambers were on the same floor, but down a different side of the palace.

There were five guards in total he walked past; the one outside his room, two at the top of the stairs, and two on either side of Yukhei’s door. Mark cringed as he thought of the rumor mill. As he approached Yukhei’s door, both guards eyeing him, he thought of quitting. He could just ignore the problem. But he’d already come this far, and it might be just as bad if he went all the way to the prince’s room and then bailed out.

One of the guards cleared his throat. “State your business.”

“I, um, wanted to—”

The other guard elbowed the first. “C’mon, let the poor kid in. We know why he’s here.”

Mark flushed. “No, that’s not—”   
  
The guard winked at him, opening the door. “If the queen finds out, we had nothing to do with it. Prince Mark, your Highness,” he called into Yukhei’s chambers.

Mark gave up trying to explain himself and just went inside.

The entire area was bigger than Mark’s, with a sitting room leading into the bedroom, and another door that Mark assumed was a bathroom. There was even a small balcony in the bedroom, from where Mark could see through the entryway.

“Yukhei?” Mark said cautiously.

“Yeah!” Yukhei shot back, a little too loud. Mark winced, but walked into the bedroom, realizing Yukhei wasn’t going to come to him.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his blue kipda. The buttons were done up wrong, though, the ends of the shirt lopsided. He only had one sock, both of his shoes lying on their sides on the floor.

His eyes were wide, and his hands were folded neatly in his lap.

“Hi,” Mark said.

“Hello,” Yukhei replied.

“I… Uh, I’m sorry for coming here so late, I’ve probably stirred up drama, but I felt that I needed to apologize for… my behavior. Earlier. At the ball.”   
  
Yukhei didn't move. “Oh.”   
  
When he didn't say anything more, Mark sighed internally. “It was wrong of me to step over the line like that, especially in front of your friends—”   
  
“Acquaintances. And it’s fine.”   
  
Mark blinked. “Um. Okay.”

Yukhei stood up from the bed and stepped closer, putting a hand on Mark’s shoulder to politely tell him to get out. Mark obediently started moving toward the door. Now that he was close, Mark realized Yukhei’s scent was off. He sniffed discreetly, but Yukhei seemed to notice, and stepped away from him quickly before shutting the door behind Mark, leaving him in the hallway with the two guards.

“Back so soon?” one said.

“We were only talking,” Mark told them, and left.

That was… confusing. What on earth had he been doing before Mark arrived? He would’ve assumed he’d been in bed with an omega, and hadn’t wanted anyone to know for obvious reasons, but there was no whiff of omega on him.

Mark was no longer tired, so he stopped by his room to fetch a coat and then walked into the gardens. The guards stationed there seemed wary, but none of them questioned him.

The gardens were pretty at night, the snow creating a glittering blanket over everything the silvery starlight touched. Mark could feel himself getting more tired with each step he took, the overwhelming activity of the day settling in. He made it to the next wing of the castle, near where the king and queen slept, before turning back, too freezing to continue.

When he was nearly halfway back to the door, though, a figure dropped into the snow beside him.

Mark squeaked loudly, would’ve screamed for help had they not landed on their feet and immediately turned around to face him, eyes widening in shock.

“Are you a burglar?” Mark asked, his mouth asking the question before his brain could keep up.   
  
The man stared. “No.”   
  
“Why…” Mark trailed off as he glanced up, gaze jumping from the terrace the man had climbed down from to the balcony it connected to. The doors were closed, the curtains drawn, but Mark became slowly more certain that it was the balcony of Yukhei’s bedroom. “Oh.”

Before he could say anything else, the man stepped closer to him and took his hands. “Please don’t say anything. Please. I work in the palace. I can’t lose my job.”   
  
As he got closer, Mark gasped. His scent… There had been someone in Yukhei’s room. It just wasn’t an omega. It was an alpha. That’s what Yukhei had smelled strange.

“Oh my god. You’re sleeping with the prince?”   
  
“I’m so sorry. Please,” the man said, seeming on the verge of tears.

Mark didn't know what to think.   
  
“My name is Renjun. I work in the garden. I climb up to his rooms sometimes, but—”   
  
“Do you love him?” Mark asked. It wasn’t a judgmental question, just a curious one.

Renjun paused. “Which is the worse answer to you?”

“I have no stakes in this game. I’m just the arranged marriage bargaining chip,” Mark said.

Renjun blew out a breath, making his hair flutter. He looked at the ground blankly, eyes glazed over. “I do.”

“You’re stupid for doing this,” Mark said. It was the prince in him coming out.

“I know.” Renjun looked back up at him, eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

Renjun let out a shaky breath and took Mark’s hands again, squeezing them. “I don’t know what to say.”   
  
“Me neither,” Mark said. “It’s not exactly a situation I’m familiar with, having a conversation with my fiancé’s… whatever you are. Lover might be a good word.”   
  
Renjun nodded, laughing wetly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good word.”   
  
They both stood there until Mark realized how cold he was, shivering violently. “I should return to bed,” he said, taking a step away.

“Thank you,” Renjun said, biting his lips.

“S… Uh, sleep well,” was the last thing Mark said to him before jogging back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me @daisyhaechan on twitter


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